Promised Land
by Sasha Koeman
Summary: They are screwed. Done for. But maybe there is another way. Post 1x13.


**Warning: English is not my native language – please be gentle. If you see something that needs correcting (and you will), don't hesitate to point it out to me in the comments, so I can fix it.**

**- / -**

It was dripping onto his forehead. Wet. Warm. Bellamy moved to wipe whatever it was off_._ His arm didn't listen, didn't flinch. A loud long moan escaped his chest.

"Be quiet," someone hissed, placing a hand on his mouth, "They'll hear us."

"My arm," he tried again, "I can't move it".

"Shut. Up."

Gradually, the sound of the outside slipped in through the pain. Engine. Humming. Couldn't be more than two meters away from where they were – Bellamy and whoever it was trying to make him quiet.

He heard someone walking – one step, another, and another one. Further down a body was being pulled. Boots hitting the ground as it was being dragged towards the hum. And after that – nothing.

**- / -**

"You passed out," someone was talking to him, "and now I am stuck here with you, asshole."

Words didn't make sense. He thought he had died already. It must have been hours or even days since he first woke up after the attack.

Did Grounders win?

"Did they?" his own voice felt hoarse. Bellamy coughed. "Water. Please."

"Did they what?" a cup hit his dry lips. First sip felt like heaven. Second brought the pain back.

His chest, his ribs, even his face hurt. But most of all, he still couldn't feel his left arm. Like it was not even there. Like…

He opened his eyes. Fast. Light blinded him for a split second and he shut them in agony. Even _looking_ hurt.

"Relax," the voice sounded vaguely familiar. He thought about it for a moment.

"Finn? Is that you?"

"Who did you think it was, dumbass? A tooth fairy?" he could almost see Finn smirking. "Sleep, we are good for now. Nowhere to go though. Stuck."

**- / -**

Next time he regained consciousness, the world started to make sense again. Slowly.

He looked at the ceiling for a while. It was dark, except for the warm flickering light to his side, but enough to see metal above him. Arc? Can't be. A bunker of some sorts, he guessed. Small. Smelled kind of stuffy, old. Nights in the tent on the ground got him used to the fresh air.

"Where are we?" he made an honest attempt to sit down on the bed he was lying on. It was comfortable. He felt a_ mattress._ "Finn?"

No response. He was alone. His question bounced against tight walls of the shelter. Bellamy closed his eyes.

**- / -**

"Hey," Finn was leaning over looking concerned, "You better stop that, don't check out."

Bellamy was better, he felt it the moment he woke up again. His body still hurt – all of it. _Including_ the arm he feared he had lost. It was there – exactly where he left it – still attached to his body. Weak, it weighted more than he could lift right this moment, but things were looking up. He could breathe without wishing every single breath was his last.

"You are worried," he noted, "that's new."

"I am deep that way," Finn sounded relieved.

"So?" Bellamy made an effort to prompt himself up against the bed frame. "How did we do?"

Finn looked wrecked. His face was full of bruises with a large fresh cut across his lip leading to the bottom of his chin. It was going to scar like shit.

"We are fucked," Finn shrugged, getting up from the chair next to the bed and walking a few steps to pick up a cup from the table, "Completely."

He took a spoon from a small tray and started stirring, "Soup?"

"Where are we?" Bellamy started small. A part of him didn't want to know the truth. He had a feeling it was even worse than he thought. If they had won, it would have been Clarke taking care of his wounds, not the Spacewalker.

"This is a shelter I have found a while back," Finn sat back down, blowing on the spoon, "Call me selfish, but I thought it was a good idea to keep it to myself, considering it couldn't have helped more than two or three of us. No place for a gang, as you can see. Four walls, some clothes and junk that has outlived its use."

"I get it," and Bellamy actually did. Tough times call for a small amount of selfishness. Plus, if there actually was something of value here beyond a few cups and spoons, Finn would have shared – no question.

"Should I do the airplane thing or you are up to the task of eating yourself?" Finn's joke felt forced.

"I think I can manage", Bellamy was glad he meant it, "But first I really need to take a leak."

**- / -**

"So…" Bellamy was sitting at the table helping himself to not the worst meal he ever had. It took almost all the energy he could master to take care of his bursting bladder, yet sitting felt good.

"Not much to tell. As I have said, we are screwed," Finn stood across from him, hands in his pockets, "Blast burned everyone and everything close to the drop ship. We were far enough – got lucky, I guess. When the smoke cleared you were buried under the south side of the wall. Your arm got it pretty bad – took me forever to free you without making it worse after soldiers left. For a while there it was touch and go – I've tried to keep you quiet, but you kept babbling, almost exposed us."

"Soldiers," Bellamy interrupted, frowning, "Mountain men?"

"Mt. Weather man," corrected him Finn, "It makes sense. They had equipment, guns, all dressed in uniforms. Organized, like Guard from the Arc. They took our people. All of them. Gassed them with some of sort of grenades."

"I've heard a motor," Bellamy remembered the humming noise.

"Generator of some sorts," explained Finn, "They brought lights. A lot of them. Went through everything we had after taking _them_ away on the stretchers. Took mountain pricks a while to clear out. With anything useful from the drop ship."

"Our people… you think they are still alive?" probably the most important question.

"If I were to guess – yes", Finn sounded sure, "Too much hustle if they were planning to kill all of us. It would have been a lot easier just to pile the bodies up on top of the burned Grounder bones and be done with it."

"We have to go after them", said Bellamy, "How long has it been?"

"A few days," Finn restlessly walked around a room, "but it's not that simple. Soldiers are still out there, I am surprised I've managed to get you here without getting our asses fried. It's not like we can just pick up and go. You are a mess, and I might be sneaky, but not to the point of rescuing the whole bunch without anyone taking notice."

"Weapons?" Bellamy felt impatient. There was nothing he could do right this moment, but anxious feeling he had to do something – anything, was taking over.

They were out there – all the kids he took upon himself to protect from the Promised Land. And he royally fucked up. They were not Grounders, not an army, just a group of losers who were thrown down from the orbit to perish.

"A few knives between the two of us and your axe, but it won't be enough – not against trained professionals, and trust me here: they were going at it like pros," stated Finn.

"Then we wait," he has already decided, "until I get better. We'll think it through – maybe head for the Arc. They dropped not that far from here. Who knows, maybe…?"

"No", Finn interrupted, shaking his head in disagreement, "I don't know for sure, but chances of them still being there untouched by the soldiers are slim to none."

"They've waited all this time to come for us", refused Bellamy, "Waited, when we were sitting ducks out here. There must be a reason they didn't took care of the newcomers the moment we've landed. Maybe they wanted to see how we do – what kind of fight we'll put up. And maybe, just maybe, they are doing the same thing with the Arc."

"I don't know", Finn worried, "We could be heading for the trap."

It was probably the reality of it – Bellamy knew as much. No matter what they did, how reacted, there was almost no chance in hell they could come out of this on top. Out there, without the group to fall back on, they were done for.

"Do we have a choice?" Bellamy looked down at the leftovers from the soup. It was almost cold now, getting less edible by the minute.

"We don't", he added, getting back to food.

**- / -**

TBC.


End file.
